


The Kings and the Rivals

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [10]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Non-Consensual, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:57:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin and Thranduil are enjoying two weeks together in Mirkwood - until Thorin is reminded of his mortality and wonders who will be Thranduil's lover after he has gone.  He checks out other courtiers as possible contenders but all this does is conjure up jealousy and a stalker.</p><p>My recent Thorinduil stories have been quite humorous but, by the end, this one has become quite dark.  And the next one will be even darker.  And, just to let you know: the third chapter contains implied non-con.</p><p>Follows on from The Kings, the Prince and the Sex Problem and is the tenth story in the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> This is the tenth out of a coming twelve stories belonging to the 'Two Kings' series which follows the lives of Thorin and Thranduil from the moment they first see each other in Erebor, through all their passionate relationship, until we finally get to see a wedding arranged in story twelve....But will they make it to that all-important altar?!
> 
> If you would like to read them all, just click on 'Two Kings' on the title page or at the end of the story.

The Kings and the Rivals

 

Chp I

 

Jealousy

 

Thorin sat on the bed absorbed in a letter from Balin.  He was spending two weeks in Mirkwood after Dain’s visit had kept him apart from his lover for twice as long as he had expected.  He had left his heir, Young Thorin, together with the lad’s betrothed, the dwarf woman, Brangwyn, in control of the kingdom – sort of.  But Balin was at their elbow and had been charged with sending him a detailed report half-way through his absence.

 

And detailed it certainly was!  It covered a dozen pages of parchment in closely written runes and required all of Thorin’s attention.

 

“Come on,” wheedled a naked Thranduil, sprawling suggestively on the bed next to him.  “Can’t you give that up for the night and read it tomorrow?”

 

“No,” muttered Thorin, not wanting to be distracted, “I need to answer this first thing tomorrow morning.  There are a number of pressing problems here.”

 

“I have a pressing problem too,” murmured the elven king seductively, running a hand up Thorin’s thigh.

 

“I need a few hours,” was the only response.

 

But Thranduil did not give up easily.

 

Thorin was sitting shirtless but still in his breeches and the king placed a long finger lightly on his muscled arm.  “What a fine tattoo,” he said.  “Not the sort of thing that any elf would have on his body, but I find yours strangely attractive.”  And he followed the writhing pattern from the bicep, up over the shoulder and down to the nipple with his fingernail.

 

Thorin ignored him. 

 

Thranduil tried harder.

 

He leaned forward and sucked the little pink nub into his mouth and then he bit it.

 

“Oww,” said Thorin, batting him away.

 

“I was just thinking,” mused the elf, “that it must have really hurt when the needle reached this far.”  And he ran a finger in a circle around the nipple.

 

“Umm,” said Thorin, just getting into a passage on the complex finances of Erebor.

 

“And I expect that this really hurt too,” said Thranduil, kissing a nasty battle-wound on Thorin’s side, delivered courtesy of Azog.

 

“Umm,” said Thorin.

 

“You know,” persisted Thranduil, “I think you have the most beautiful navel I have ever seen: so wide, so deep, so tempting.”  And the wet tip of his tongue swept the navel’s perimeter and then plunged into its depths.

 

The elf lord was groaning with desire, but Thorin’s forehead wrinkled as he got to a tricky section of the letter.  Time for a more aggressive approach, thought Thranduil, as he surreptitiously unbuttoned Thorin’s breeches and slipped his hand inside.

 

The elven king purred deep in his throat as he thought how sweet and soft the dwarf felt, like a small animal curled up in its nest.  But, I believe we can do better than this, he laughed to himself, and, cupping his hand under the dwarf’s balls, he began to fondle them.

 

At last, he had Thorin’s attention as his lover looked down with a grin at the elf’s golden head, now resting on his powerful chest.  “What shall we do with you, Thranduil?” he tutted, as his member stiffened and grew.  But, then he went back to his parchments.

 

Thranduil redoubled his efforts, stroking and squeezing the hardening length until Thorin finally held his wrist.  “Stop it,” he groaned.  “I really must finish this paperwork, you know.”

 

“All right,” conceded Thranduil, “but only if you answer one question.”

 

“Which is?”

 

The elf studied Thorin’s erection with amusement.  “Is this a typical dwarven length?” he asked.  “Or are you exceptional and am I just very lucky?”

 

Thorin roared with laughter.  “You’re just very lucky!” he replied.  “This particular feature has been inherited from Durin himself, or so I am told.”

 

“Ah, then,” sighed the elven king, “you have spoiled me for everyone else.”

 

It was said as a compliment; for any dwarf, elf or man would be lucky to have a lover with a cock the size of Thorin’s.  But, the dwarf took it another way.  He thought ahead to the moment of their eternal parting, to that time when Thranduil would then look about him for another bedmate, and it made him angry and jealous.  By Mahal, these elves boasted too much of their immortality, passing so blithely through the lives of mortal men and dwarves, using them and then moving on casually to another until the end of all things.  He was just a moment in the elf’s existence and Thranduil was obviously already thinking of the paramour who would follow after.

 

Thorin pushed a startled Thranduil from him, throwing Balin’s letter to the ground, then standing up and buttoning his breeches.  He grabbed a pillow and the coverlet, then marched into the other room.  “I shall sleep in here tonight,” he snarled, throwing himself down on a sofa.

 

Thranduil stumbled after him.  “What have I said?” he asked in a confused voice.

 

“Let me sleep,” snapped Thorin, turning his back and pulling the coverlet over his head.  “I shall be up early tomorrow to answer Balin’s letter.”  And the elven king was forced to retreat to his bed.

 

.o00o.

 

Neither of them slept but Thranduil managed to work out what Thorin’s problem was, whilst Thorin himself was up with the sun to write a detailed response to Balin’s letter.  As he wrote, he wondered why he was bothering.  Perhaps he should just return to Erebor and sort things out in person.  His love for the elven king was so powerful, so intense, so all-consuming that he sometimes wondered if he should break off the betrothal and turn his back on Mirkwood and his lover because the relationship was just too exhausting.  

 

Thranduil quietly entered the room and placed a gentle hand on Thorin’s shoulder.  “You must know that other lovers never cross my mind when I think of you.”

 

“Even so,” replied Thorin without looking up, “they do cross mine and your words were a reminder.”

 

“Our fates cannot be changed, but bitterness can spoil our time together,” said the elf.

 

Thorin sighed.  “Let me alone a while to get past these thoughts,” he finally murmured.  “Leave me to write this letter to Balin.” And the elf lord was more than relieved that the one he loved had not decided to return to Erebor.

 

Thorin finished his letter and handed it to a messenger.  And then he passed on out into the gardens of Mirkwood so that he could have a quiet think.    He knew that he couldn’t change his fate and yet he still tormented himself about all the lovers that would follow on after him. And then he suddenly realised that any new lover would be an immortal elf and one who doubtless already existed in Mirkwood.  And he thought of Ethril who had lusted after Thranduil for a thousand years and yet still had waited patiently for him, even trying to split up the relationship between the two kings.

 

Then the dwarf felt an overwhelming urge to know the face of the one who would follow after him.  He would study all the elves at the court, beginning with those who seemed the likeliest potential lovers, and, if he could guess, then perhaps it would help him to reconcile himself to a rival.  Perhaps he could grow to like him and be happy for Thranduil’s sake.

 

.o00o.

 

The relationship between the two kings had caused quite a bit of muttering in Mirkwood.  At first, knowing he wasn’t welcome, Thorin had kept to Thranduil’s apartments whenever he visited.  But, more recently, especially since their betrothal and on Brangwyn’s advice, he had been trying to make himself known to the elven courtiers.  “They can’t like you if they don’t know you,” she had said, waggling a finger.

 

And so, nowadays, Thorin would always go down to the Hall to eat his meals and, there, Thranduil created opportunities for his retainers to discover his lover’s appeal.  If there were singing, then the elven king would pass Thorin a harp and invite him to participate.  At first, there were raised eyebrows but they soon learned that he had a very beautiful voice and that the songs of dwarves, though melancholy, had the ability to pierce the heart when sung by such a skilled performer.

 

When old stories were told, Thranduil asked Thorin to relate both those from dwarven history and those events that he himself had been involved in, such as the Battle of Azanulbizar, although the two carefully sifted through such stories in advance to make sure that they contained no material that criticised the elves or clashed with their particular version of events. “Or else,” laughed Thranduil, “we shall find bloody battles being played out once more in the middle of the dining hall.”

 

And the way that Thorin told these tales in his melodious and thrillingly deep voice held his whole audience gripped and, as with his songs, there were usually cries for more along with the applause.

 

When they walked around the palace and its courtyards, sometimes they would come across elves practising with sword or bow.  Then Thorin would draw forth Orcrist and they would admire its beauty and be proud of its elven origins.  And he would give a demonstration of his skill with sword and axe whilst they showed him how they fought with their long knives and both sides admired the other’s skill.

 

Soon, a certain respect began to grow between them.  “There, now,” said Thranduil.  “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”  And, no, Thorin was surprised that, when he had made the effort, they had begun to accept his presence.  Even Legolas was being reasonably pleasant to him and more understanding of what was going on between Thorin and his father.

 

This was useful because it was Legolas that he decided to pump for information.

 

.o00o.

 

**Next chapter: _Circle of Friends_ , where Thorin checks out the other courtiers with a bit of help from Legolas.  NOT a good idea, in my opinion.  I hope you come back and join me next week.**


	2. Circle of Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, Thorin persuades Legolas to introduce him to Talagan, one of Thranduil’s friends with whom he shares a common interest in music. Honestly, Thorin, this really isn’t a very good idea, you know. It just starts you thinking and you know what happens then, don’t you?

 

.o00o.

 

Chp II

 

Circle of Friends

 

One evening, as Thranduil was chatting to a group of his councillors, Thorin turned to Legolas and expressed his enjoyment of the time he was spending in Mirkwood.  “Yes,” said Legolas, “it is true that the pleasures here are somewhat more sophisticated than those of Erebor.”  And he smirked.

 

Thorin bit his tongue and continued: “I am beginning to be well accepted by the elven lords in general but would now like to make the acquaintance of individuals.  I think it would please your father.”

 

Legolas agreed and glanced around the room.  “Shall I introduce you to a few of my friends?” he asked.

 

“Well,” said Thorin with a certain measure of cunning, “perhaps it would be better if I got to know your father’s friends and then that would be a relationship that we could share.  Are there any here present of whom your father is fond and whose company you think I might enjoy?”

 

Legolas furrowed his brow and then began pointing to a few in the room.  “Over there is Talagan,” he said, indicating a languid elf lord who was lounging in the corner and plucking idly on a harp.   “He and my father are often deep in conversation about music.” 

 

Thorin tried hard not to glower too obviously at this slender, elegant competition and turned his attention to a beautiful elf woman who was surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.  “That’s Glamel,” continued Legolas.  “She’s very witty and makes my father laugh.”

 

The dwarf felt a surge of envy.  He himself was rather dour, he thought: not exactly silver-tongued nor did he often make people laugh, unless by accident.  Her company must make a delightful change after his.

 

And that’s Maelon,” said Legolas.  “He’s one of our greatest fighters: very physical.  He and my father often practise their sword-fighting together.”  Then he sighed.  “What a body!  One of Mirkwood’s finest specimens, I should think.”

 

Well, thought Thorin, Thranduil reckons that I’ve got a good body too.  But……this one was taller, smoother, with golden hair and lithely muscled limbs.  And just look at those cheek bones!  They could cut paper.  And Thorin found himself wondering how well-endowed he was.

 

“That’s about it,” Legolas was saying.  “He has never had many friends, especially now that Ethril has gone.”  And he gave Thorin a side-long glance and the dwarf wondered how much Legolas knew about the incident that had resulted in Ethril leaving for Elrond’s court.   “My father’s too arrogant for these Silvan elves.  Few of them are good enough for him.”  And then he looked surreptitiously at Thorin once more as if thinking that a dwarf was yet a further step down the ladder and that he couldn’t understand the attraction, no matter what his father had said on the matter.

 

Thorin glanced across at Thranduil and saw that he was still deep in conversation.  “Will you introduce me to Talagan?” he asked.  And Legolas willingly led him across the room.

 

“May I present Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain,” said Legolas.  And when he saw the faint look of surprise, he added: “I believe that you may have a common interest in music.”  Then he withdrew, leaving Thorin to sit down beside the elf.

 

The dwarf reached out and ran his fingers over the harp gently.  “I’ve heard you play,” said Talagan, handing the instrument over to him.  “Who would have thought that such large hands would have so light a touch?”  And he smiled to show that no insult was intended.

 

Thorin picked out a melody on the harp.  “Music is one of my obsessions,” he murmured.

 

“And Thranduil, I believe, is your other,” the elf lord grinned.  “An excellent combination, I would agree.”

 

“And have you also more than one obsession in your life?” Thorin asked politely.

 

“No,” was the response.  “I am waiting for a Thranduil to come along to fill that particular hole.”

 

Thorin’s whole body clenched.  Was that a hint?  A _double entendre_ , even?  Was Talagan, like Ethril, prepared to wait until the king’s mortal lover met his end, as meet it he must?  And the dwarf’s original intention of liking and becoming reconciled to Thranduil’s future bedmate vanished in a puff of smoke.  He imagined the two of them in bed together with Thranduil filling Talagan’s ‘particular hole’ and a powerful sexual jealousy roared through him.  He stood and excused himself as politely as he could before he felt obliged to kill him.

 

He left the Hall and hurried back to Thranduil’s chambers.  But, there he had a calming bath and climbed into bed where he prepared for his lover.  They had hardly spoken since the argument this morning but now he needed him in his arms.  Thranduil, noticing his absence, soon followed after and was relieved when he found Thorin naked in his bed.  The elf stripped and climbed in quickly beside him, then made to slide gently on top of him.  But Thorin grasped him and roughly rolled him beneath his body, where, forcing one of his thighs up to his chest, he thrust into him.

 

The elf laughed rather shakily.  “Ready, I see,” he panted as he felt the dwarf’s oiled length slip easily inside him.

 

“Yes,” grunted Thorin.  “I missed you today and could wait no longer.”

 

The silence was only broken by the gasps of pleasure, but then Thorin suddenly said between the thrusts, “I met a friend of yours this evening.  Talagan.”

 

“Yes, I suppose he’s a friend,” Thranduil panted.  “We share an interest in music.”

 

“So.  I.  Understand.”  Thorin’s staccato words were punctuated by a series of forceful stabs, making the elf groan and writhe.  

 

 He thrust one last time and they circled slowly down in one long spiral of pleasure until, bathed in sweat, they broke apart from each other, the elven king thinking how very, _very_ lucky he was to have as his lover an heir of Durin who possessed one rather valuable asset.

 

There was a gasping pause until the elf suddenly said: “Mind you, best not to get too friendly, Thorin, because he’s just about the most boring person I know.  All he can talk about is his wretched harp.  Makes me want to nod off.”  And he gave a splutter of laughter.

 

Thorin relaxed on a long sigh and mentally crossed Talagan off his list.  His arm slid around his lover’s waist and he kissed him tenderly.  “Guess how much I love you?” he muttered sleepily.

 

Thranduil yawned: “Probably just about as much as I love you,” he replied.

 

Then they both fell fast asleep in each other’s arms.

 

.o00o.

 

**Well, will Thorin stop in his Sherlock-like pursuit of possible future lovers?  I don’t think so: he’s on a roll.  Next week, in the third and final chapter, _Secrets and Lies_ , he gets to meet two more of Thranduil’s friends and, with one of them, bites off far more than he can chew.  He’s set on a dangerous and destructive path that could finish his relationship with the elven king.**

 


	3. Secrets and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin tries to find out more about Lady Glamel and the elf lord, Maelon, but this leads to a rather unfortunate episode down at the hot springs. By the end of the day, Thorin realises what a stupid course he has been set on. But, is it too late for regrets or has the damage been done?

Chp III

 

Secrets and Lies

 

The next day, Thranduil had a council meeting and Thorin was determined not to waste time but to kill two birds with one stone.  And so, when he saw both Glamel and Maelon chatting together in one of the gardens, he homed in on them.  “Ah, the companion of our king,” they acknowledged him.

 

“The _betrothed_ of the king,” he corrected.  They’d better get used to the idea.  Then he elegantly bowed over Glamel’s hand and kissed it.  “Thranduil has often spoken to me of the beauty of his friend and her ready wit,” he murmured courteously. And Glamel, not one to ignore a bit of flattery, even if it were from a dwarf – a very handsome dwarf, she had to admit – fluttered her eyelashes.

 

Then he turned and bowed to Maelon.  “And you, from what he tells me,” said Thorin smoothly, “are the finest warrior at his court.”

 

Maelon smiled pleasantly.  “Ah,” he said, “I see that it is not only elves who are silver-tongued.”

 

“And,” added Glamel, “from what we have heard, you are honey-throated too.”  And she gave him a suggestive look from under her golden brows.

 

What _did_ she mean by that, Thorin wondered?  Was she truly admiring his singing or had she noticed the frequency with which Thranduil took those jars of honey from the dining hall and which they used in their love-play?  And, just for a moment, he wondered what they talked about when she and Thranduil were in conversation together.  Were they so close that they shared lovers’ secrets?

 

Then, of course, he wondered what else she knew.  And, did such closeness mean that the elven king would quite happily move onto her once his present lover was gone?  Perhaps after years of bedding a male, he would like to ring the changes once more.  And, for the first time, Thorin thought about Thranduil’s wife and whether or not the elf made comparisons when they were in bed together.  Elves lived so long that it wasn’t surprising to think that they might get bored with the pleasures offered by just one sex.  Or one race.  Perhaps that was why a dwarf had suddenly seemed like an interesting choice.

 

Stop thinking, Thorin, he told himself, metaphorically slapping his wrist.  It’s not very good for you.  And he turned back with a smile to Maelon.  “Thranduil is always telling me how much he enjoys practising with you in weapons training,” he said politely.

 

“No,” replied Maelon.  “It is my pleasure since he must be one of the greatest warriors of Middle-earth. But,” he continued, “I have heard that you have been giving some very interesting demonstrations in the use of sword and axe.”

 

“I have been equally intrigued,” responded Thorin, not to be outdone in politeness, “in the elven use of long killing knives.  This is not a weapon that we dwarves often use.”

 

Maelon ran a considering eye over Thorin.  “I am just off to the practice grounds,” he said.  “Perhaps you would care to join me?”

 

This will offer me an opportunity for knowing him better, thought Thorin and, after a courteous farewell to Glamel, they set off first for the nearby Armoury where they selected some weapons and then strolled onwards to the practice area.

 

It was a warm day and Maelon immediately stripped off his shirt.  Yes, he is a fine specimen, Thorin thought, and felt slightly reluctant to follow suit.  It wasn’t that he didn’t think that he was not possessed of an admirable physique, but it was totally dwarven – wide, muscular, hairy, pierced and covered in tattoos.  It was the sort of body that made most elves wrinkle their noses in disgust.  And so, it was with a measure of reluctance that Thorin finally unbuttoned his shirt.

 

Naked to the waist and swinging his sword and axe, Thorin noticed Maelon’s eyes run over him but the elf lord made no comment.  Then they set to.  Thorin gave a very good accounting of himself and they finished up rolling in the dirt, their weapons knocked from their grasp and with each trying to get a stranglehold on the other.

 

“I think it’s a draw,” panted Maelon at last and they fell apart, gasping and laughing.  Then the elf lord seized Thorin by the forearm and pulled him to his feet.  “What amazing strength you have!” he exclaimed, clapping the dwarf on the shoulder.

 

“And you move with such speed,” was Thorin’s response.  “I think we are a very equal match.”

 

The elf lord blinked through dust-clogged eyes.  “You are extraordinarily filthy,” he grinned.  “And so must I be.  Thranduil won’t let you over the threshold if he sees you like that.”  And, amiably, he led him down the path to the hot springs which bubbled up to form an attractive pool.

 

It was nearly dusk and the pool was deserted.  Suddenly, Thorin felt uncomfortable again.  But, Maelon peeled off the rest of his clothing, shook the dust from his breeches, hung them on a tree and then strolled unselfconsciously into the water.

 

Big enough, thought Thorin, but nothing exceptional.  And he flung off his own clothes after deciding he had nothing to be ashamed of. 

 

Maelon stood waist-deep in the water and watched him.  He was fascinated by the dwarf’s body and had deliberately set up this moment in the pool.  Whilst they fought, he had noticed the striking differences between Thorin’s body and his own: the heavy muscles, the hair on his chest, the tattoos over one arm and shoulder, the pierced nipple.  All these features repelled him and attracted him in equal measure.  He had been taught that tattoos and piercings were dwarven mutilations of the body and yet found he wanted to trace the patterns of the tattoos with his tongue and grip the ring that pierced the dwarf’s nipple between his teeth and tug it gently.  As they wrestled in close contact, he noticed how good he smelled, a compelling perfume of smoke and burning coals and sweet applewood fires, so musky and masculine that he longed to lie against that great chest, wrapped in those arms, and feel their strength.

 

And then Thorin had removed his clothes completely and had waded into the pool.  Lucky Thranduil, thought Maelon with an inward grin.  Perhaps, if all elves could see what he saw now, then dwarven lovers would become the new fashion.  And he wondered how easy he would be to seduce.

 

The two washed themselves in silence until Maelon suddenly said: “Turn around and let me scrub your back.”  And Thorin, not knowing how else to respond, did as he was told.  The elf reached out for a bar of soap, conveniently positioned in a dish strung from an overhanging branch, and rubbed it into his hands.  Then he washed and kneaded Thorin’s huge shoulders and moved on down to the muscles of his shoulder blades.  Thorin felt the tension unknotting and murmured:  “You have great skill.”

 

“So they tell me,” was the brief response.  And he moved on down the dwarf’s spine and, then, unexpectedly, to his hips.  He didn’t linger there but, before Thorin had time to object, his soapy fingers slid over the king’s buttocks, which he squeezed lightly in passing, before running up the cleft that separated them.  Maelon had one purpose by now and he was confident that he would achieve it.

 

.o00o.

 

When Thorin returned to Thranduil’s apartments, he stopped a servant in the corridor and asked for food to be brought to his room.  He was pushing this about his plate when the elven king entered the room.  “Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.  “Why weren’t you down in the dining hall?”

 

“I’ve had a busy day,” replied the dwarf wanly.  “I’m rather tired and I couldn’t face meeting up with the beautiful Lady Glamel again, if truth would have it.”

 

Thranduil laughed.  “Ah, so you’ve been in the company of Glamel, have you?”  And when Thorin nodded, he continued: “Yes, she’s very beautiful but her wit is rather wearing.  You have to be on your toes all the time because she can be quite malicious.  I also avoid her when I can.”  Thorin ticked another suspect off his list.

 

The dwarf put down his fork.  “I think I’ll have an early night,” he said wearily.

 

“I’ll join you,” replied Thranduil quickly.  But, when he saw Thorin’s look, he held up a hand and said: “Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.  I’ll just hold you until you go to sleep.”

 

Thorin took off his clothes and crawled beneath the sheets and Thranduil soon slipped in beside him, gently putting his arms around him.  The dwarf appeared to be in a strange, fey mood and the elf felt he needed to handle him carefully.  “So, what else did you do today?” he asked.

 

His lover paused and then said: “I met Maelon too.”

 

Thranduil sat up abruptly: “Now, that is someone who you really _should_ avoid.  I don’t want you associating with him.”

 

“Why not?” asked Thorin.  “I thought he was a friend of yours.”

 

“He’s an acquaintance,” responded the elf sharply.  “And you’re just not in his league.”

 

Thorin was angry.  “So, you don’t think I’m good enough for your friends,” he snarled.

 

But Thranduil caressed his face gently.  “No, that’s not what I mean.  You are the equal of anyone at my court.  Yet, compared with the unending years of elves, you are so young and innocent, my love.  I fear that you would not be able to cope with the sophisticated corruption of an elf who is thousands of years old and who is rotten to the core.”

 

“Maelon?” asked the dwarf, his eyes wide and questioning.

 

Thranduil sighed.  “ ‘Maelon’ is not his real name but his nickname.  It means ‘filled with lust’.  He can’t keep his hands off any unsuspecting elf lord.  But, we are all wary of him now and he is running out of victims.”  Then he said: “He hasn’t touched you, has he?”

 

Thorin paused for the tiniest fraction of a second and then muttered:  “We practised on the training fields today.  I heard that this is something that you shared with him and I thought that I might enjoy it too.”

 

The elven king pulled down the sheet and exposed Thorin’s upper body which was covered in bruises and scratches.  “And is this where you got these marks?”

 

“Yes,” replied Thorin sullenly.  Then: “This is quite an interrogation when all I’ve done is try to make the acquaintance of some of your friends.  I thought it would please you.”

 

“Yes, yes,” the elf hastened to reassure him.  “Of course I’m pleased.  I’m pleased that you want to interact with the Mirkwood community, but why my friends in particular?”

 

Thorin felt too exhausted not to tell him at least part of the truth.  It had all gone so wrong anyway.  “I thought I might be able to work out who your next lover would be,” he murmured quietly, “and thought that he or she would most likely already be one of your friends.  I hoped I would like them.  But,” he sighed, “all it did was fill me with jealousy.”

 

Thranduil folded him in his arms and kissed him tenderly.  “Oh, why have I fallen so deeply in love with a fool,” he smiled.  “There will be no more after you, even though I should live for all time – because elves love only once.  And you are that one.”  Then he kissed Thorin’s eyes and his lips and gently brushed back his hair.  “Now go to sleep,” he whispered, “and I shall show you how much I love you in the morning.”

 

But, it was Thranduil who fell asleep first and it was Thorin who was left awake to think and think.  If only he had left things well enough alone.  If only he hadn’t approached Glamel and Maelon today.  If only he hadn’t gone off for that practice session.  If only he hadn’t gone to bathe in that hot pool.  If only he hadn’t……

 

Secrets and lies.  Secrets and lies.  In the end your sins will always find you out, or so Brangwyn was fond of telling him.  Dear Mahal, he hoped not!

 

.o00o.

 

**Well, that was a bit mean of me, wasn’t it, finishing the story there and leaving you to fill in the gaps with your own imaginations.  Are those secrets and lies, whatever they are, buried?  Or are they doomed to surface in the not too distant future?  And will they totally destroy the love that exists between Thorin and Thranduil?  Read the next story: _Kings, Secrets and Lies,_ where I shall tell you exactly what happened down at that pool and where we find out just how ruthless Maelon becomes in his pursuit of Thorin.  Not a very nice story.**


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